Gunshot
by Hanna Sedai
Summary: Oneshot request: based on my fic Northern Star, chapter 28. What would have happened if Dick had shot his friend?


**Disclaimer:**

**A/N:****Last ****night ****I ****was ****up ****late ****talking ****to ****shutupshea, ****and ****after ****I ****saw ****her ****wonderful ****piece ****of ****fanart ****for ****Eastern ****Sky (posted on tumblr)****I ****decided ****to ****write ****a ****oneshot ****for ****her in return. ****She ****requested ****an ****alternate ****oneshot ****in ****which ****Dick ****shoots ****Jared ****in ****Northern ****Star.**** Links for ES fanart are up on my profile page. I wrote this pretty quickly, but it was fun! **

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** -DG-**

"Kill him."

Startled, Dick caught the gun Slade threw at him. He almost dropped it in surprise and confusion.

"I—" Dick looked from Jared to Slade, his breath catching in his throat. "Slade, I—"

What could he say? That he wouldn't? He promised Slade that he would kill, but actually doing the deed…and so soon…

Slade glared at him. At that moment Dick felt as though Slade could see right through him, just like Clark's X-ray vision.

"You know who he is, don't you?" Slade asked. "Don't lie to me."

His ensuing silence was more than enough. Dick knew that he couldn't lie to Slade, but he couldn't make himself say it. He nodded ever so slightly.

_ Did __he __kill __Jared's __father? _Dick thought. _No__…__be __alive__…__please __be __alive__…_

"Hmm, this certainly changes things, but no matter. Kill him anyway."

Jared shut his eyes. Although he wasn't crying, he seemed to have accepted the fact that he was going to die either way. He couldn't scream or fight his way out. Dick didn't want to kill him. He didn't want Slade to kill him. He didn't want to have to make this choice.

_But __I __have __to. __Make __a __choice, __Grayson._

Dick didn't move. He agreed to kill for Slade, but he couldn't make himself do it. Killing someone he knew was different than killing some stranger for money. If he was ever going to kill someone then he didn't want it to be someone he knew. Slade began to grow impatient.

"Very well." Slade turned and shot Jared in the chest. Blood darkened Jared's shirt as he writhed in his seat, unable to shout in pain. "Now it's a mercy killing. If you don't shoot him, he'll die a slow death by blood loss."

Jared shuddered, shutting his eyes as he braced himself. For either a slow death or a quick one, Dick didn't know. Dick couldn't move; he was paralyzed with fear. A part of him said that he should kill Jared. Slade wouldn't let him live anyway. However, Dick still didn't move. He still held the gun tightly in his hand, but he allowed his arm to hang limply at his side.

"What are you waiting for?" Slade demanded. "Kill him!"

The pressure…the pressure was too much…

He raised the gun and aimed it at Jared's head. He knew what to do. He had mastered the techniques that Slade taught him. It wouldn't take much effort to pull the trigger. He cocked the gun, the sound echoing strangely in the quiet room.

Slade's hand closed over his own as he took hold of the gun. "The first kill is always the hardest, I know. I'll help you."

If he wasn't going to shoot, then Slade was going to make him. Dick looked straight at Jared, wishing that there was some other way he could save him.

"I'm sorry."

He looked away as he pulled the trigger. Slade's hand absorbed most of the recoil, so Dick didn't even feel like he had shot the gun. His hand shook as he stood there, frightened to look at what he had done. Slade carefully peeled Dick's hand off the gun and put it away.

"Very good, apprentice."

As Slade stepped away Dick finally looked up and gagged. There was blood everywhere. Jared sat there, his dead eyes staring back at him. Dick crumpled, wrapping his arms around himself as he tried not to vomit, his growing horror holding back his tears.

"Will," Slade said in his communicator, "Come pick him up. He's done for the night."

He felt Slade place a hand on his shoulder. "It had to be done. He and his father knew too much. " Slade paused. "You'll be fine. I'll do the cleanup."

Somehow Dick found himself nodding. Best not to say anything that would make Slade angry, not when he was such a good mood. Dick wandered to the bathroom and threw up until there was nothing left in his stomach to vomit.

An old dog poked her head out from the bathtub, whining softly. Had she been locked in here the whole time? Dick didn't remember the dog's name, but that didn't matter. He picked her up and cuddled her, leaning against the bathroom wall.

_He __would __have __hurt __you __again, _he thought. _You __didn't __have __the __strength __to __fight __back._

Hundreds of reasons flew through his mind as he tried to justify it, tried to understand the gravity of what he had done. He took off his mask and rubbed his eyes, not sure if he was going to start crying.

The bathroom door opened. Wintergreen stepped in and looked down at him.

"Richard," Wintergreen said, "it's time to go."

Dick didn't move. He didn't want to move, didn't want to walk through the house, didn't want to see anything that reminded him of the fact that he was responsible for the Holdens' deaths.

"Dick, we have to go."

He looked up. Wintergreen never called him Dick. Wintergreen knelt next to him and put a hand on the dog's head. "Let her go. She'll be fine, one of the neighbors will pick her up."

Wintergreen tugged the dog away and walked back into the hallway. A minute later he came back and gestured for Dick to stand up. "If you don't move Slade won't be pleased."

Dick stood up, his entire body shaking visibly. If Jared was dead, then Slade must have killed his father earlier that day. He wanted to scream at thought, but fear and guilt kept his mouth shut. If he started screaming Slade would get mad again.

"Come on," Wintergreen said, gently taking Dick's arm and leading him forward, "I know you don't want to be here anymore."

Everything felt like he was walking through a dream: slow and surreal. At some point he realized that he was back outside and stepping into a car. Dick didn't question anything; not as if talking back would fix anything now.

Running away again wouldn't do anything. He was still hurt from the night before. At this point he almost didn't care. He had tried so hard to escape and almost succeeded. Everyone was dead because of him.

_I can't save anyone. I can't win. Not ever. _

Slade's unmasked face suddenly loomed next to him as he stood next to the car door. He studied Dick through the open window. After a moment Slade walked away and got into the front seat, slamming the door shut.

"Let's get out of here, Will," Slade said. "We're done here."


End file.
